999_ Twenty-Nine Original Tales of Horror and Suspense - Al Sarrantonio [102]
My mother did not, as might have been expected, relax after I and my brother, Herman, were born. This, she would later tell me, was because she knew she was fated to have Lily. Lily confirmed my mother’s worst fears, her essentially bleak view of the world. Of course she blamed herself for Lily’s deformities. Of course she had a nervous breakdown. And of course this made everything worse, for us and for her. You could say with a fair degree of certainty that hers was a self-fulfilling prophesy. She was terrified of life and so she gave birth to a life that terrified her. Was it any wonder then that Lily horrified us? We learned, Herman and I, like all animals, by example.
It’s not that I blame my mother. She could no more help herself than a robin could help but fly. That’s what robins do: fly. And to be perfectly truthful Lily was an unholy terror. Not that she could help herself, either. But the truth is the truth, no matter how painful. There was simply no point in going near her, let alone trying to make contact. For a time, I tried to pity her, but though I could pity my mother I couldn’t pity Lily. There simply wasn’t enough of her. Then, I tried to pretend she didn’t exist, but that didn’t work, either. Nothing worked when it came to Lily—no diagnosis, no therapy, no form of rationalizing, nothing. Eventually, even her Exorcist-like twitching and drooling became banal, part of the scenery that’s seen but no longer registers. She was a sad fact of life, like my dad’s pathetic easy chair that was so smelly and decrepit we all wanted to throw it out.
A swelling burst of sound pulled me out of my odd reverie. Up ahead, I saw a crowd spilling out of a large arched, iron-clad doorway. I felt certain this must be the entrance to the gallery where the exhibition hung.
I wanted to go on, but instead I stopped dead in my tracks. My gaze had been drawn, possibly by an unexpected movement, to a shape crouched atop the ornate cornice at the corner of the building nearest us. It projected out over the sidewalk, a dark and sinister countenance that made my blood run cold. It was merely a gargoyle, I realized after this initial jolt, but it was unlike any I’d ever seen before. I squinted into the drizzly gloom. It appeared as if the thing was half man, half reptile. It had an eerie oblate head with a face that was wider than it was high. Oversized eyes flanked an inhumanly large mouth and a horrific ophidian snout.
“What has caught your attention?” Vav asked.
“The gargoyle above us.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “You know, don’t you, that gargoyles were originally added to buildings to remind man of the dark side of his nature.”
“Jesus, if this one represents someone’s dark side I certainly never want to meet him. The thing is downright hideous.” And yet I couldn’t stop myself from staring up at it. Possibly this was because I had a personal horror of reptiles that dated back to when I was a child of seven. I’d been lost in the Mexican coastal swamps and had had a truly terrifying encounter with a crocodile intent on having me for lunch. I got the willies just recalling it.
“The crowd is big, isn’t it?” Vav said without even turning her head to look.
“And getting bigger every moment, I’m happy to say.” In truth, I was delighted to get my mind off the horror squatting above us. “You’re obviously quite popular.”
“Ah no, now you are confusing the messenger with the message,” she said. “It’s nothing to do with me. They have all come to see the paintings.”
“But the paintings are you.”
“Once you are there, you will see.” She led me into the mouth of a dank alley along the near side of the stone building. Instantly, the city was obliterated by darkness.
“Shouldn’t we be going into the gallery?” I asked.
“We must hurry,” Vav said. “From what you have told me there is very little time.”
“But I’ve told you nothing—”
I broke off. There was something about this alley, something